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New! A General Breaking (?/m, torture/interrogation)

crackerjack_j

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Hello. I hope you enjoy what I intend to be the first of two parts. Feedback is welcome. (As are commission requests!)



Part I

The heavy oak door, rotting from years of underground humidity, creaks open on tired hinges. Everything in the cell is dusted with pitch and hay, except slices where boots and elbows scraped the walls and floor.

It was obviously a mighty struggle to haul the General in, to his doom, on this stone table; I was told it took seven guards, one per limb and two to strap him down quickly. The last earned a broken nose. I lick my lips, and glance at the soldiers stationed at the door. I make them nervous, and that pleases me; they won't meet my eyes.

The General, a large man with fair, freckled skin and dark red hair bursting from his entire head, lies prone and prepared for his torture. His breathing is steady, his body relaxed; he has been stripped nude, the shadows of hair in his armpits and crotch dark in the bright torchlight.

His arms are strapped above his head, wrists pulled over the edge of the table. Straps under his elbow joints and shackles chained to the floor hold his arms completely immobile. He is flat on his back along the table, knees bent over the edge like his elbows; straps hold his knees vertically under the kneecap, to leave the tender spot above the kneecap exposed. (Good lads.) His ankles are clamped in a set of wooden stocks and pointing to the floor. Beneath them a hot covered brazier burns, heating his red soles.

“Mmmm,” I purr, fingers flexing eagerly in my robe sleeves. “Hello, General.”

He gives no sign of hearing me. Sean Gideon Davey is ruthlessly intelligent, patriotic and the most renowned military mind of our time. How exactly we managed to catch him, let alone get him all the way back here, I don't even fully understand. But here he is, a legend, in the flesh - and it is beautiful flesh. The soft, velvety skin of a redhead is often intensely sensitive; and I expect to be fully rewarded by the delicious, porcelain man before me.

He is heavily muscled, stretching over a slab large enough to comfortably confine an average adult man spread-eagle. Sean’s skin is so fair that it does not tint the torchlight dancing over it, with a rain of auburn freckles dusting his face, shoulders and arms. There may also be some on the top of his feet, which are otherwise uncomfortably pink from being roasted. I can see him struggling not to flex away from the heat of the brazier beneath them.

My blood begins to race through my arms and legs, and my belly tightens; I yearn to put my hands on this man, to pull the sounds from his stoic throat, only this morning filled with battle cries. Now he will scream for me.

I take a long breath and step forward to lean over him. He meets my eyes calmly, not blinded or gagged - at my request. I want to hear him, and see his eyes.

“I hope you're comfortable, General. It is just you and me now, for as long as I want. I am going to tickle you.”

I watch carefully and see what I am looking for: realization, concern. His eyes tighten the slightest bit; buried in his eyebrows and thick beard. I hear his feet move in the wooden stocks at the end of the table and I feel arousal rising in my belly. He didn't want me to hear his feet move but he couldn't stop the nervous twinge. I'm aware too, of the guards watching with trepidation. They should all be scared. I am ruthless. And I am ready.

I sit on the stone table beside General Davey’s open armpit and taut ribcage, and I eye him from his knees, up his thighs and penis (flaccid, hooded, heavy testicles), and trace the invisible line over his puckered navel, to his nipples with my eyes. Slowly.

I watch him watch me, and I see his pulse begin to race in his throat. Men don't care for this kind of scrutiny, and I want him to feel ill at ease. He is more likely to succumb to my tickling ministrations if he feels nervous. I linger on thick areas of his body, seeking insecurities to study. His eyes follow mine as I stare at his wide belly and meaty legs.

“I am to retrieve as much information as I can from you. Battle plans. Supply routes. Locations. I am sure we have plenty to discuss.”

I reach out my left hand and show him my single index finger, extended, tipped with a silver fingernail cap. Curling and uncurling it, I dance it before the man’s blue-green eyes.

“I have these for every finger! They are devilishly ticklish on every body part,” I pause to look him in the eye.

I lean over his face, holding out my menacing tickle finger, and slowly finish. “I know you're a ticklish little boy, General,” I coo at him.

“And I am going to tickle you until you laugh, and laugh. And if you cry, I will tickle you until you laugh again. I crave nothing else but to break you down into a giggling, drooling mess of raw nerves.”

Terror flashes briefly across his face and I am flush with excitement: is he that ticklish? I cannot wait to find out.

Without another word, I jump onto the table and straddle his broad chest. Tiny little ringlets sprout around his two pert nipples, and his ribs are broad but not pronounced beneath the muscle and fat. I lie over his chest and rest elbows on either side of him, index fingers extended and pointed toward his stretched armpits.

“Are you ticklish? Hmm? I'm coming to geeet yoouuuu! Aaahhhh cooochie, cooooooochie…” I wiggle my fingers toward his pits and his breathing is quick and concerned, his eyes fixed on one hand, then the other.

“COO!” I shout, startling him - the big man closes his eyes and cringes, holding his breath.

I lunge for his armpits and freeze. We both hold for one, long second.

Then I laugh at him.

His face is beet red with the fear and surprise, the humiliation of knowing that I know he is ticklish. That all I have to do is touch him.

Often, I have to torture a man for days to get a giggle - but the most infamous man on this side of the world is going to crack like a fresh egg! I am focused on him like a predator; I am going to break this man down with merciless tickles.

But first I am going to tell him about it.

“Oh, you are not even going to last a minute! I bet I could just breathe on you and you'd fall right apart! Some big man you are, I thought this would be a challenge.” I blow into his right armpit and he scowls.

Hate. He hates me! His muscles are tight and angry, his belly and chest beneath me hard with anger at being teased - yet cringing at the idea that I could tickle him at any moment and he will laugh his fool red head off.

I put my fingers up again and reach out, poking his elbows. I poke intermittently, just to tease him. One side. Other side. Elbow. Bicep. Elbow. Elbow. Bicep. Bicep. Creep lower, poke. Poke. His elbows begin to jerk. I feel his body twitch every other poke or so, as I creep closer to his armpits - they, along with his face, ears and chest, are flushed red with heat, humiliation, pent-up laughter and rage.

“Tickle tickle big boy! How long can you hold out? Once you laugh it's over. I am going to tickle torture you to death.”

Poke. Poke. I skip the center of the pit on both sides (anticipation, yum) and poke into his ribs. Sean closes his eyes to focus on his breathing, and I can see his skin crawl with the effort of breathing and not laughing.

“Oh ho ho ticklish ribs too huh? Imagine FIVE tickly fingers!” I drop clawed fingertips onto each side of his extended ribcage and press firmly. Sean holds his breath.

“One...two…”

Are those tears squeezing out of his eyes? Oh god yes.

I retract my hands and his whole body trembles. His torso is flushed entirely pink, muscles bulging and cringing. He is right where I want him.

I continue to poke down his body, a little faster now, and he is visibly wiggling under me as my fingernails creep over his belly and hips.

I poke poke poke down his thighs, and turn to lie with my chest over his half-hard penis. Facing his bent knees, I claw ten fingernails down the insides of his thighs, to inside his knees, and trace firmly and cruelly toward his roasting foot bottoms.

His legs are roiling and wiggling under me, unable to fight against the instinct to escape the tickling. My nails tickle as far as they can go to the stocks inside each of his white ankles, then tap over the wood and down to his desperately clenched toes, crawling like big pointed spider legs over the balls, arches and over his heels.

“grrrRRRPPHhhh,” a sound came from behind me, barely more than a breath.

“Oh, GENerAAALL,” I tease, reaching up above myself and wiggling my fingernail tips where Sean could see. “Here I cooome!”

My hands dart down toward his feet, which flail and cringe in a useless effort to escape me. But there is no escape.

I see the feet freeze in fear. I wait until they soften, then poke them gently so they cringe again.

“Oh ho ho!” I giggle. “I heard you laauughing! Run run little piggies! I'm going to tickle these hot little potatoes until you cry!”

I poke each big toe, and the feet flail and cower; I hear a low, soft moan of frustration behind me. This is insane, his feet are all but running off and abandoning him here with ticklish fright.

I can't wait any longer.

“Are you ready, General? It's time! Ahhhhh coooochie...coOOOOOchie cooooo!”

Curl my hands and I attack his feet without mercy. The metal nail tips fly from his clenched toes to his quivering red heels, scraping and tapping and pinching the crevices and crannies.

His big soles kick and flail uselessly, toes bent as tightly as they can, but my nail tips easily infiltrate the spaces to reach the tender webbing between his toes. Sean’s feet are red hot, I can feel the heat of his skin on my hands. I make it my mission to tickle under his toes, and I succeed, and I don't stop.

The sound that comes from the man I am tickling can hardly be described. He begins muffled, fighting mightily against his need to react to the attack on his feet; but the sound rips out from between his tight lips and tears his mouth open in forced, screechy hilarity.

The sensation overloads him, and he cannot escape, and he is forced to react. I am so aroused by my power to break this man down that I am hardly phased by his torment. His feet kick and his body wiggles under mine, flushed red from head to toe, as shrieky, desperate cackles escape his straining throat.

“mmmmMMMMMRRAHHHHAHAHANNOOOORRRRHRRHRRHRRREEHEHEHAAAAAAA!” The general cries as I tickle his feet.

“Oh GENERAL! Oh WOW are you a mess, you big old baby. You're SUCH a ticklish boy! Coochie coochie! Tickle tickle toes! Tickle tickle tickle!”

Wherever his feet go, my sharp nails follow; I tickle the balls of his feet, pinching under the toes. He kicks as I scrabble down his arch and across the inner ankle, scraping over the sensitive bone with five nails; over and over and over. Tickle tickle. Sean is wailing as I grab roughly at his heels, dragging up his sole with my nails every few grabs. Grab grab grab drag grab drag grab grab. Draaaag.

I pinch at his toes individually, poking between and pinching the racing, scrunching toe-tips. They cannot escape my pinching fingers. Sean is beside himself with high-pitched giggles and I'm smiling.

I tickle all over his feet rapidly for another moment and then pull my hands back to this side of the stocks. I tickle his ankles, shins, knees and thighs with the same merciless, pecking, random spider tickles. Pinch pinch pinch at his ankles and Achilles' tendons. He whines and giggles.

His feet flap against the other side of the stocks as I scratch gently up and down the backs of his calves. Giddy guffaws tumble over me. Up to the knee-pit, poke poke scrabble scrabble; scratch scratch scratches down the calf to the ankle. Tickle tickle ankles. Scratch back up the calf and grab mercilessly at his knee-pits. Sean’s laughter is silent and wheezing.

My hands creep around to the joint above the kneecap and I begin to grab and knead deeply into the muscles. I knead and massage upward into his thighs.

General Davey’s laughter changed, raising again like a siren as the deep tickles hit his belly. Hilarious guffaws bubble out of him as if he were sharing a jolly laugh with his best friend. Behind it I hear his frustration, the torture of being more ticklish the harder you wish it to stop. Resist and fall.

“Is this so FUNNY?! Is it SO FUNNY when I tickle your KNEES, Sean?” I ask, kneeling my thumbs and fingers into his bent knee joints.

The General laughs harder, trying to roll away from beneath me. I believe he is trying to talk to me but I can't make out any words beyond the desperate laughter.

“Tickle tickle knees! Gooch gooch! I cannot believe how ticklish you are! I thought I would have to suck your penis for days to get a little giggle out of you, but I hardly had to begin!”

I crawl my fingers like slow, creeping spiders up his thighs. Sean wiggles and squeals.

“HAAHAAAHEEEEHEEENOOO NO NO PLEEASAHAHAAAAHAHAHAHAAHAAHAAA!!” He cackles and rolls behind me. My hands crawl up his legs and they shake violently in their bonds.

“Inch! Inch! Guess where I'm going, General? Tickle tickle! Have you ever had your penis tickled?” I poke and grab at his inner thigh muscles, pausing my slow trip upward, as he squeals.

“How about those balls? Hmm?” I return to crawling up each thigh with my hands, and Sean wiggles underneath my chest.

“Hmm? Answer me. Has anyone every tickled your penis? Have they? Geeeneraaaal. Tickle tickle! Tell me your ticklish seeeeecrets! I bet you've got some down heeere!” He can't answer me from laughing.

I sit up, straddling his belly and staring down at his erect penis. His breath comes in long ragged giggles behind me.

I am barely getting started.

“General O’Connor! I think you LIKE me!” I exclaim, my back to his gurgling face; he doesn't respond. “Coochie coochie coochie little Sean!”

I hold his hard penis in one fist and pull the skin back, exposing the head; the general’s body flexes and pulls away. I hear a whimper and I let out a hearty chuckle.

“I can't believe how ticklish you are! Are you dying?” I trace one finger gently around the wet, protruding penis head, tickling with slow precision. Sean groans and his breathing is shallow. Around. Around.

“Tickle tickle penis. Mmhmm, shhh shhh shhh.”

His body flexes and a shot of pleasure rolls through me when I hear him moan. I continue to trace his sensitive head as his penis grows more and more capable of standing on its own; around and around the head with the metal flat of my finger. Sean’s breathing changes pace, and he struggles not to react to something new. Orgasm.

That's enough.

I hold his penis down against his trembling belly and trace one finger from the other hand in lazy, menacing swirls around his balls. His penis twitches and jerks with sensitivity as I hit ticklish nerves in his sack, tracing spirals.

I amp up slightly, tapping tickling raindrop zaps up and down, up and down. Sean groans and flexes, his breathing falling apart rapidly; once I start to tease him, he breaks down into soft giggles.

“It's all over, Sean. I tickle men to death who never laughed as children, who were said to have ice in their veins. A ticklish baby like you doesn't stand a chance. You'll tell me all your little soldier secrets in no time.”

I drop his genitals and wiggle fingers into the tendons on either side of his ball sack. Sean’s entire body freezes and then begins to tremble and strain as I pinch his groin viciously.

He screams. Cackling laughter rolls out of him as I move my deep massage up into the joints under his hip bones. I rub circles deeply into the space under the bone and Sean lets loose another hilarious guffaw. I move in toward his lower belly with my rolling thumbs, the back out to his hips as he rocks and laughs uncontrollably.

I reach into that groin tendon and grab it on both sides of his body. Pinch pinch pinch pinch. The General kicks and howls, and I can hear him straining to draw a breath.

I try to time the pressure in my thumbs so that the tickles jolt his body as soon as he starts to breathe in. It works perfectly, and I tease him as I deprive him of air with my wicked fingers.

“This is just the beginning, the first day of the rest of your tickle-tortured life. I can keep you forever. Tickle you into oblivion every day until you die of old age.”

The General wheezes and I am forced to relent. He is allowed several coughing, laughing breaths.

I turn around and sit on his crotch, facing his upper body, pausing only a moment to gaze at the tickled red canvas in front of me.

As my nails begin to dance all over his torso, starting under his navel and crawling upward, they leave white lines and dots in their tickling wake. I am methodical, seeking out the patches of unbearable ticklishness scattered like mines.

Sean heaves and flaps his head back and forth desperately each time I locate a ticklish mine. His body wracked and sobs as I tickle it with both hands.

“Oh GAAWWDDHAHAHAHAA!! NOOAAAHAHAHAA STTAAAHHHPAHAHAAAAHHHAAAA!! AhhahaaamMMMAAAHAHADAAYYIIINGGGG AAAAAAAAAA NOOOAAAAHHHAHAHAHA NOOOO! BBBRRREEAAAAHAHAHAHHKAAAKAAA!! BreaaaAAAAHAHAAA!!”

The General begs sincerely for a moment to breathe as my quick, tickling fingers crawl up over his arched belly. I tickle up and down his belly, over his sides and flanks, poking and poking. Sean’s head rocks back and forth, his mouth desperately trying to mouth an apology, a confession, a plea. My hands keep crawling, mercilessly attacking every quivering nerve they find.

The General cannot speak again because I tickle roughly and rapidly as soon as he manages to inhale. His face is nearly purple as my fingers crawl over his ribs, poking between. Poke jab poke, rub rub.

“Goochie goochie ribs! I'm coming for those pits, boy. I'm going to tickle them until you pass out. Tickle tickle ribs, here I come!”

I sit back and raise my arms, clawing my fingers. Giggling involuntarily despite not being tickled, Sean watches teary-eyed and head shaking “no” as my hands descend toward his body.

“Beg me.”

His proud eyes meet mine, enraged. I drop my hands onto his body and tickle mercilessly. My fingernails drive into his ribcage and dig for laughter. His face scrunched and he groans, the sound rising into screechy giggling. Dig dig grab, grab grab with my fingers.

The sound of sheer inability to keep from laughing. Staccato, through-the-teeth cries of unbridled ticklish laughter. My symphony. I massage his ribcage, up and down, with wide, clawed fingers. Sean cannot handle it and shakes his head, keening.

My fingernails find their tickling way into his armpits and pinch and scratch, and pinch and scratch. I scuffle my nails in circles in the deepest, softest center of each armpit, tangling into the red hair and reaching to the tender skin beneath.

Sean’s eyes nearly fly out of his head. Strong belly laughter heaves out of his body as I tickle his armpits.

I poke harder, reaching for the ribs under the flesh; Sean screams and shakes his head. I grab his nipples and pec muscles with rapid pokes. Poke poke poke. I scribble his nipples a little and then poke each one, once, directly. His body leaps and then crumples again as I resume my tickling liking attack on his chest. He is beside himself.

I rub the tendons in his pits - hard. Sean literally cannot laugh any harder, his face straining gape-mouthed and soundless. I rub, and rub, watching his bulging eyes roll away, his face strain away. I love watching him struggle to escape me.

I knuckle his ribcage and he buckles, inhaling desperately and then screaming.

“AAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHA!!! WAAAAAHAHAAA! STAAAAHHHHHAAAAHHHHH!”

“Go on, Sean. Beg.”

Sean renews his howling laughter as I rub deeply up and down his armpits, up into the bicep with my thumbs, then down the pit, down the ribs and into the rib underneath his scapula. His eyes clench shut and tears pour out; he is crying. He wants to beg and I won't let him.

“Oh GENERAL!” I exclaim. “General! Are you CRYING?!” I continue to tickle his body from his scapulas to his biceps with my thumbs and knuckles. The tickling is rough and unbearable. “There's no crying here! You're supposed to be laughing! Tickle tickle tickle!”

He continues to sob as I tickled his armpits relentlessly. I dig and dig, then scratch rapidly, up and down. Up and down. Dig dig. Scrabble scrabble. Sean’s closed eyes pour tears and his previously laughing face is frowning, frustrated and beet red.

My favorite part is turning that around.

“Tickle tickle crybaby! Tickle tickle tickle these pits! Just put your arms down if it's so bad. I can't stop if you don't hide your pits! I love this red pit hair!” I pull and pinch it, tugging the hair gently and hard intermittently. He continues to whimper and sniffle and cry. “Tickle tickle hairs. Just put your arms down, crybaby.”

Obviously he cannot. I tickle him again and he snarles and yells, angry and frustrated and unwilling to be made to laugh.

I tickle him while he screams and thrashes uselessly for several minutes, to prove that a tantrum doesn't change how much I want to tickle him. He doesn't laugh and I don't care; when I stop he is red and exhausted and sobbing.

I sit back and wipe my face with my hands. Checking over my shoulder I see that one of the guards has closed his eyes; the other stares directly ahead. Both are sweating nearly as hard as nude Sean Davey.. I get off of my crying victim and crook my finger at the guards.

“You two, come here.”

They look scared and exchange glances, but obey. I point to the stocks holding the hot feet of my prisoner.

“Lift those stocks and set them in those braces.”

The guards obey, lifting the stocks so Sean’s legs tilt back, exposing his asshole and lifting the soles of his feet into the air. He is now even more exposed, in addition to exhausted.

“Thank you. Who’s next?”

They both blanche and I laugh, dismissing them with a wave as I move to the foot of the table. I stand watching my victim's wet face from between his splayed knees, as I loom over his wholly exposed genitals and asshole.

He jolts when I touch index fingernails to the bottoms of his thighs and draw them, achingly, downward to his ass. I do this again and he remains still. I do it again and again, slowly, taunting him. His skin is sweaty but soft, and sensitized; his penis is ½ erect, his feet flexing nervously in the air.

I'm having the time of my life.

“How are you feeling, General? Anything you would like to tell me?” I begin to pinch and grab at his thighs, up into the inner thighs from underneath. Rapid pinches. Poking. Outside and up, inside up and down.

His muscles tense and he fights the laughter for a few moments.

“Once you laugh it’s over, Sean. I am learning how to play your body like a fiddle. A ticklish, squeaking little fiddle who will laugh at the sight of me. No point in fighting it now, you're already doomed. Tickle tickle doomed boy. Go head and let it out.”

I begin to tickle the backs of his thighs in earnest, with all of my fingernails. Sean’s mouth can't hold the blast of laughter that slams out of him, hoarse and strained.

“Oh GENERAAALLL, I'm going to tickle your balls and your legs again! Tickle tickle goochy boy! Here I come!"

My fingers crawl menacingly toward his twitching crotch. The General throws his red head back and laughs hoarsely.



End Part I
 
OMG. This is delicious. I think you might be my soul mate :D Please do continue!!
 
This is great work! I honestly hardly ever read stories on here anymore with the exception of two or three authors and occasionally re-reading my own, but I look forward to more from you. Awesome job!
 
This is great work! I honestly hardly ever read stories on here anymore with the exception of two or three authors and occasionally re-reading my own, but I look forward to more from you. Awesome job!

Gosh I'm flattered - I pick yours from the lineup as well. Thank you!


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Wow that was crazy good! Gave this ticklish red head goose bumps lol.
 
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